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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734365">Crimson Petals</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherly6002/pseuds/Sherly6002'>Sherly6002</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Hanahaki Disease, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:08:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24734365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherly6002/pseuds/Sherly6002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, my writing isn't the best, and there may be errors, so please bear with me<br/>This story is written for a friend and may be translated into Chinese for her.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Crimson Petals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello, my writing isn't the best, and there may be errors, so please bear with me<br/>This story is written for a friend and may be translated into Chinese for her.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I was supposed to protect you forever,</p><p>Love you forever, </p><p>Cherish you forever. </p><p>But cruel fate,</p><p>Only saw it fit to take you from my hands,</p><p>After tempting me,</p><p>And letting you just brush my fingers, </p><p>Your warmth, touched the core of my soul, </p><p>Before I was whisked away, away</p><p>To the cold, heartless embrace of death</p><hr/><p>   The narration of the following events to come will explain everything, John. They have been recounted with meticulous detail from my Mind Palace. I fear my time may be up before I can pen down my last few days, or weeks with you. </p><p>Sherlock Scott Holmes.</p><hr/><p>21th June 2017</p><p>  My mind is a whirlpool of thoughts. Moments before I had been rushing against Eurus' diabolical game to save John, and now I am back in my armchair at Baker Street. Somone once said that sentiment is a trait found on the losing side. Is it sentiment I feel? The rough texture of the armchair, the sound of Mrs Hudson talking loudly to some other old lady, even the smell of the air, it makes some feeling arise in me. Is it sentiment? I can't be becoming a goldfish now, can I? John is coming up the stairs.</p><p>  John opens the door. His hair is a mess, as if a rat decided to have a litter on his head then died in childbirth. His eyes, normally so full of life, now seemed soulless and empty. The glassy eyes fixated on me, and for a while I could not think of anything to say. Before words finally found their way out of my throat, John threw himself on me. He nestled his head in my shoulder, and silent sobs shook his body. What does someone do in a situation like this? Tentatively, I placed my hands around him, and rubbed his back in concentric motions.</p><p>  "Sherlock, I'm so happy you're alright... Never do that again." John croaked. He looked up at me, and I saw his face, with tears running down his cheeks and mucus tainting the salty fluid. He looked utterly broken, worse than the photos of shell-shocked men in war. "Its... alright... John, I swear, I will never leave you again." I managed to say, and as the words left my mouth, a strange feeling blossomed in me. I do not know what it is, and even all my analytical prowess fail to come up with a word in the English language to describe how I feel.</p><p>  Forget it, I thought, it's not important. Only John matters now. </p><hr/><p>22nd June 2017</p><p>  I woke up today feeling like someone had decided to place a dumbell on my chest. I tried to sit, and a horrible itch started deep in my throat. I shoved my finger down my throat, wiggling it inside, until I felt the irritant. Pulling it out caused me a dull pain, and I placed it on my palm to see what it was. It was a singular yellow daffodil petal. It looked as if you had plucked it from its bud prematurely, small and unassuming. Crumpling the petal up, I tossed it under my bed. My bed? John must have moved me to my bed after I fell asleep yesterday. The thought of John carrying me to my bed and changing me made me feel a certain type of way. I push it aside.</p><p>  Getting out of bed, I walked outside to see John making breakfast. "Morning, Sherlock. I made eggs and bacon. The bacon is slightly crispy, but its still edible." John in an apron is hands down one of the nicest things one can wake up to. My heart did a weird leap when I saw him in the apron. John placed the china plate on the countertop, and the smell of well cooked bacon brought my senses back to myself. "Thank you, John." I said, smiling slightly. John's jaw dropped. "Did Eurus drug you yesterday, or did Sherlock bloody Holmes just thank me?" I grinned. "Think what you may, John." John held up his hands to his mouth in mock shock "Sherlock smiling? Is there a murder already, so early in the morning?" No, just you, John. No murder can make me smile as widely as you.</p><p>  A throat ripping cough seized me, and a few yellow petals were deposited on my hands in phlegm. "Sherlock? Did you catch a cold? Runny nose? Fever?" It made me feel warm inside to see John's immediate concern for me, in a way I couldn't understand. "It's nothing, John. A mild cough, it'll go away, it always does." I reassured John, while helping myself to a mouthful of John's bacon. "I'll be going to the clinic today to settle a few things, then settle Rosie in with Molly, then I'll get the groceries," John began, poking at an invisible list with his fork. A sudden feeling overcame me, and it must have shown on my face, as John stopped his listing to say,"Sherlock, I'll only be gone for the day. I'll be back before you know it. Occupy your time with an experiment or something, I know it isn't easy for you, especially after what your sister put you through. But you have to be strong, alright?" A warm sensation bloomed in my cheek, and something hitched in my throat. I could only mutely nod. </p><p>  John patted my shoulder, and I swear an electric current passed from him to me. I tried in vain to suppress the shiver, and thank goodness John did not notice it. After John left, I let loose all of the coughs I had been holding back in front of John. Wave after wave of pain washed over me, and when the tide finally subsided I had a hand full of yellow daffodil petals, some even speckled with blood stained phlegm. </p><p>  I know what experiment I shall conduct today. I shall find out the cause for the petals I have been spitting up. I do not want John to be worried about me, so I have to find a remedy as quickly as possible.</p><hr/><p>23rd June 2017</p><p>  Today is the day I have started to keep this diary. The entries before this are recounts. I leave this diary as a remainder of my thoughts, if it is too late, at least they can read this to understand what occurred in the final stage of my life. Today, the petals have been coming from inside me at a rate of one or two petals at a time per three hours. There has also been a compressing feeling on my chest, as if someone is always sitting on it. I take great pains to hide the petals from John, but I think he suspects that something is amiss with my constitution, as he offered me a warm cup of ginger tea in the afternoon. I have been keeping each of the petals I regurgitated, out of a sense of sentiment (ugh!) and storing them in a container in my room. I have to find a way to cure myself of this illness. </p><p>  Logically speaking, this disease, Hanahaki Disease, has no known cure. I could try to invent one, no one else has my brains, perhaps I could do it? The cause of the disease is known, and it is unrequited love. Love? I fail to comprehend why that kind of thing would afflict me. Who am I in love with? All those goldfish novels I read for research, all say, love is something intangible, something you cannot see nor feel, yet you do not know of its presence? It makes no sense to me. All things, no matter how small, must have a reason for it to happen. Everything that happens, no matter how bizarre it seems, is all caused by some trembling of the great spiderweb that is the world. Understand the spiderweb, and how it works, and you have something near to foresight.</p><p>  Love, however, is exempt to this rule. Love breaks all the known laws of science and deduction. and I fail to comprehend it. Mysteries of the heart are the only ones not for Sherlock Holmes. It seems, however, I seem to have gotten myself entangled in the mysteries of love, and life, mine, hangs in the balance. Many books that I have found on the subject give very little on how the Hanahaki Disease. I have taken great pains to hide the books from John, lest he realise something is amiss with me. Many books start the probable cure by finding out who the afflicted is attracted to. </p><p>  Could it possibly be Irene Adler? She was the only one who beat me, was she not? No, she can't be. I have no attraction to women, and the thought of lying with one does nothing to make me excited. Perhaps, I am gay? It is possible that I am, but then if so, who am I gay for? I can scarcely think of any men i would even want to talk to. much less be attracted to. That detective from the Yard, Giles, Gilbert, Granham...? That is definitely not possible. I do not even know his name! I cannot understand how I would be attracted to a goldfish. The only two people whom I know who are not goldfish are Mycroft and Eurus, but once you eliminate Eurus (I'm gay), I am only left with Mycroft. Mycroft? That pig! No way in hell! </p><p>  Now I am only left with one, John. Do I love John? Perhaps I do. I have always treated John differently from the other goldfish. It's not because of anything except for the fact that he's... John. But, John just sees me as a friend right? To fully cure Hanahaki Disease, the other party must reciprocitate my love for them. I will die if I do not. </p><p>  I must find ways to tell John I love him.</p><hr/><p>24th June 2017</p><p>  I have been reading articles on the internet on how I should profess my love for John. My coughing has gotten worse, and I have been coughing up a mouthful of blood alongside the petals, which increase in number. The cheery yellow of the flower petals, coated with a slimy red, makes me want to throw them away, but I have been keeping them all in a jar under my bed. Perhaps if I die, they can be used for medical research to find more cures for Hanahaki Disease. Holding my hand up to my mouth, and coughing another bundle of petals up, I stagger outside. John is sitting on the chair with his laptop on his lap, writing in his blog. Seeing him write makes something in my heart flutter, and I have the sudden instinct to cover John. Just as I was about to dispose of my waste, John turned around and saw me with a handful of petals and blood. "Bloody hell, Sherlock! Are you on anything?" John jumped out of his chair and came to my side immediately. I clenched my fist, not allowing John to see the petals in my hands. Blood dripped from the gaps between my fingers as I threw them into the sink next to me.</p><p>  "I'm not high on anything, John. I'm just ill, that is all." I tried to smile, to show him that I was okay, but I think the sight of my blood stained teeth must have frightened John. "Sherlock Holmes, have you been on a case with any of the people from the drug den? Have you, by any chance, been to the hospital lately and come into contact with anyone with an illness? Any, at all?" A smile formed itself on my face when John's face turned into one of concern. "John, I... have I ever said how much I appreciate you?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I cringed inwardly. That was bad, even by goldfish standards. No, especially by goldfish standards. "Sherlock, I think I have to prescribe you with bed rest. You're uttering nonsense. Thank you for that compliment, but I think you need sleep more. I shall go and get my equipment from the office and come back to check on you in the evening. I have to work in the afternoon today, so I will not be with you. If you feel nauseous, feverish, or anything like that, call me immediately. I will rush back as soon as the London traffic will allow me to. Understand?"</p><p>  Why doesn't John understand what I mean? It's not easy to do this, and I cannot think of any other ways to express my emotions to him, so I nodded and went to my room in silence. Setting myself down on the bed, I closed my eyes and went into my mind palace. I went to the room where I kept John and things related to him. I opened the wooden doors, and saw John sitting on his bed. He was dressed in his pajamas, and his hair was still wet from the shower. I inhaled the scent of John that was so uniquely his. I went toward him, with my hands shaking, and moved toward his face. I felt the rough skin, and it was warm to the touch. I had never touched John's face in this way before, and I was overcome with a strong desire to protect him at all costs. How am I supposed to protect him if I am going to die? I have to make John realise I love him.</p><p>  "Brother mine. I heard from your adorable doctor that you are feeling under the weather. Might you care to tell me what is going on?" An all too familiar voice jerked me out of my mind palace quite rudely. My annoying elder brother was standing at my room door, casually leaning on his umbrella as if he had no care in the world. "Mycr-" I could barely finish his name before i erupted into a fit of coughing. This time, it lasted longer than usual, as if it knew that Mycroft was looking at me, and it wanted to show Mycroft the severity of my illness. Mycroft rushed to my side, patting and rubbing my back with smooth movements. </p><p>  By the time it had ended, I was shaking, and my hands were overflowing with blood and petals. "How long has that doctor been defying your advances?" Mycroft asked sternly. "Not very long. I first got symptoms a few days ago." I explained, as I took out my jar of blood and petals. "Do you need me to make that doctor love you? Also, I don't think keeping those petals will help for any future tests into Hanahaki Disease. I mean, I don't think it. I know it won't." I shook my head. Wheezing, I asked Mycroft, "How could the Iceman ever have loved someone so much to have experienced the Hanahaki Disease?"</p><p>  "It was... about ten years ago. I started to throw up petals, much like you. DIfferent from you, I did not know who I was in love with. At that time, you were about thirty, peak of your life, so you wouldn't have noticed me. Every day, I asked around the international board for any piece of evidence, anything at all, which would help me to get better. After tons of digging, and at the verge of my death, news came to me of a cure. I could have an operation to have the flowers removed from my lungs, where they are growing. I was told that doing this operation had the risk of not being able to love ever again, but I took it. I recovered, but have been unable to feel love ever since. The only person I have what goldfishes consider love for is you, Sherlock. Your loss would really, really break my heart."</p><p>  So many things made sense now. Why Mycroft was always so cold, even heartless. He had undergone treatment for the Hanahaki Disease, and now he was unable to feel love for anyone else ever again. I think the only reason he still feels love for me is because I am family, and he will always protect me. "Sherlock, one word and I will call for someone to help you. I know some good doctors." Mycroft added gently, stiffly placing his hand on my shoulder. "No, Mycroft, I'm sorry, but I shall have to refuse your kind offer." Mycroft nodded sadly, as if he had been expecting that. "I have always only loved you, Sherlock. I would honestly just drag you to the operation room myself and operate on you, just so that you would live, but I know this doctor means a lot to you. I will let you choose. But I would always want you to live. I cannot live without you."</p><p>  "Getting sentimental in your old age, brother?" I added jokefully, and he smiled. His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he reached to hug me. "May I at least stay with my brother dearest as he withers to death in a puddle of his own blood and petals?" he whispered. "Of course."</p><p>  We spent the rest of the day like that, lying in bed together and Mycroft helping me clean up whenever I couldn't catch my petals and blood in time. I have seen how human my brother actually is. No matter how he looks on the outside, deep down he is a brother that loves me. I wish I could take back everything I said about Mycroft previously, and treat him like I should. At around five he tucked me into bed, and I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. Mycroft did not leave after setting me down, and I could feel wetness on my arm where he was. I felt something warm touch my forehead.</p><p>  "Brother mine." </p><hr/><p>25th June 2017</p><p>  I think I do not have long to live.John still has not figured anything out. He refused to let me cook dinner for him yesterday, despite the fact that I sad that I could do it. Ten minutes after Mycroft left, John returned with medicine. He fed me some foul tasting liquid, and asked to inspect the phlegm that I have coughed up. On cue, I started another fit of coughing, and the petals flew out of my mouth like rain. It would have been rather beautiful, on hindsight, with the petals floating like angels onto the red blood. It did not feel beautiful, with the petals raking holes in my throat with every heave I gave. John looked startled to see the large amounts of blood and petals on the ground, and it took him a few moments for his senses to return to him. "Did Eurus plant flowers in you?" John asked. He sounded serious, like he actually believed that Eurus actually placed a flower into my lungs. I did not dare to tell him the answer. What if he figured it out, and sent me for treatment? I would then lose all ability to love John, and I did not want that. </p><p>  "Don't be daft, John. I am very sure Eurus did not plant a tree in me. By the way, did you send Mycroft?" His face darkened. "Yeah, did he bother you? I thought it was a good idea to notify the next of kin, but if that bastard is still bullying you at a time like this, I'll beat him so hard he won't see the light of day ever again. He sent me a text earlier, telling me to watch your emotional state, and "know that Sherlock loves you". What nonsense is your brother spouting? Does he know something I don't?" God bless Mycroft, if there even is a god. He did try. "No, I do not think my brother knows anything. I am not sure if he has already deduced my illness, but he didn't tell me. And don't worry about Mycroft. He was very kind to me today. I would... enjoy having him over again. I won't get another chance again." I said rather desolately. John grabbed my shoulders tightly, and looked me in the eye, hard. </p><p>  "You are not going to die, Sherlock. Mycroft and i will make sure of it." John took the rest of the medication and fed it to me, but not before I could cough up another smattering of petals and blood. John helped me to my bed, and tucked me in again.</p><p>  "John?"</p><p>  "Yes?</p><p>  "I love you."</p><p>  "Yeah, ditto." </p><p>  John still doesn't get it, I thought sadly. He thinks this is all just because I'm ill and cannot think straight. If  have to die, at least I know that I have died with love for John Watson in my heart. I have a feeling that the end is near. </p><hr/><p>26th June 2017</p><p>  It is hell in my lungs. I can barely breathe. I have a feeling today will be my last. </p><p>  I walked around the flat today, and helped Mrs Hudson get something from the top of the shelf. "Oh, darling, you've lost weight! I do wish that that doctor wasn't half as blind as he is, or you would've been better already." Mrs Hudson complained. "How did you know?" I asked. I hadn't told anyone about my condition, and Mycroft had deduced it without my telling him. "I may be just an old lady, but I know a lot of things. That is what old ladies like me can do." Mrs Hudson sighed. "I wish the doctor would get it into his thick skull that you love him." Tears welled up in my eyes, and I knelt down in front of Mrs Hudson. She wrapped her arms around my kneeling body, and her tears wet my hair. I have no idea how long we both were in that tableau, but when I stood up my knees were weak.</p><p>  I am now writing this in the living room. The feeling of the pen on paper may be my last. I can already feel my senses leaving me. I threw up on the ground next to me. That was the worst three minutes of my life. On the floor lay a fully formed daffodil, when I regained control over myself. I scrambled to find my phone, and texted John.</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Bring Mycroft at once. Come here if convenient, if not then just pass this message to Mycroft.</p>
  <p>SH</p>
</blockquote><p>  I lie on the ground. I do not know how I am still writing. More blood is coming out of my mouth. It is on the floor. I hear something. I see light. Is it John? No. I see someth-</p><hr/><p>  As soon as I got Sherlock's text, I ran over to Baker Street as soon as I could, while calling Mycroft at the same time. When I got there, I was out of breath. I saw a running Mycroft running towards me as well, and if it were another time, I would have poked fun at him. But not now. We both ran into the flat, and saw Mrs Hudson sitting on the ground crying. "What's wrong, Mrs Hudson?" I asked. "Its all because of you, John. Things wouldn't have happened if you'd figured it out sooner!" Me? What did I have to do with this? Mycroft seemed to know what Mrs Hudson meant, and he dragged me by the arm and pulled me up to his room. Even before we opened the door, we could smell blood. </p><p>  Mycroft pulled open the door and we saw the tragedy inside. Sherlock was lying in a puddle of his own blood, with many fully formed daffodils near him. One of them was growing out from his mouth. Mycroft gasped and ran to his side, kneeling down next to him. His expensive trouser pants got dirty with the blood, but he didn't mind. He started wailing, one of the most horrendous sounds I have ever heard. "Come on, you buffoon! Say you love him!" I was stunned speechless for a moment, but then it hit me.</p><p>  Hanahaki Disease. Sherlock had it. He loved me, but I was too thick to understand. "Oh, Sherlock, I understand now. Sherlock, I love you!"</p><p>  That day, I wailed the hardest. </p><hr/><p>
  <em>The following is an excerpt from John Watson's blog. </em>
</p><p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Dearest readers, it saddens me to write that Sherlock Holmes has departed from this world. He was found dead by natural causes with a book in his hands. I have published it here.</p>
  <p>It shall be named "Crimson Petals"</p>
</blockquote><hr/><p>The grim figure of death,</p><p>looms over the mortal. </p><p>He asks,</p><p>are you ready to come with me?</p><p>The mortal answers,</p><p>No, I have unfinished business here,</p><p>I haven't said my goodbyes to the man I love.</p><p>Death sneers.</p><p>Death waits for no one,</p><p>and he brings the mortal away,</p><p>as his lover barges in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading my story!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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